


The Worst Injury

by binaryStars



Category: Homestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 21:49:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7406200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binaryStars/pseuds/binaryStars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One time, Itchy got his arms ripped off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Worst Injury

Four clocks clicked in time. Otherwise, it was silent. Peaceful. It almost always was for Stitch; he didn't much like to get involved in the shenanigans the other members of the gang did, so he sat at his sewing machine all day, thankful for the free time he had to work on his own projects. What were his own projects? Well, currently, he was working on a new shirt to go underneath his coat. The one he was currently waiting was full of holes from sticking pins in there, as it was a little hard to stick immense amounts of pins in his mouth. He rose his new shirt up for inspection. A little asymmetrical around the bottom, but nothing he couldn't fix without butchering the shape he wanted.

With the snip of his scissors, a small bit of fabric fell to the desk. Perfect. He wasn't about to change into it right there; he'd wait until the next morning. He was sure that he'd done as good a job as any on that shirt, so he was ready to just wear it the next day. If it needed any adjustments, they'd likely be minor, but again, the chances were slim; he'd made so many shirts before. 

He put the shirt down, and laid back in his seat. Ah, yes. The peaceful quiet. He wished the clocks would stop ticking for a second, just a second, so he could really just relax. He wasn't ever aware of them while he was working, but right in that moment, he had nothing to d-

A light _thud_ sounded from behind him. He turned to see that Itchy's effigy's arms had fallen off.

He sighed to himself, and stood up to pin the arm sockets closed; Itchy was bleeding out, somewhere. He then started looking for the... what was it at this point, yellow? Orange? He'd made his own system for counting how many times he'd sewn wounds shut. For example, Doze had an extraordinary amount of colours on him, since he was so slow his brain couldn't process what was happening to him, let alone a retaliation (Stitch sometimes wondered if the world was as slow to Doze as he was to the rest of the world, or if the world was just a huge blur, but then he usually decided that he didn't care that much), while Clover only had three unnoticeable, little, green stitches on one of his fingers, from that time he'd gotten a paper cut at the same time Stitch had been updating his effigy. Lucky guy; he wouldn't have noticed the injury, otherwise. Not that it was, in any way, life-threatening, but it was still good just to put _something_ on him.

Anyways, he pulled out some royal violet-coloured string. Perfect for this level of injury, he thought. Not that it was measured in levels, but in number of injuries, but it was different for everyone. He threaded his needle- whoops, did he miss the eye? Haha, better try again. He knew he wasn't going to get any sort of "thanks" for this, so might as well take his sweet ass time with it. After a second "miss", he had the needle threaded, and picked the arms up off of the ground. He made sure he was holding the left arm, first, to sew that one back on, and then bit the thread off to tie a knot. He was fairly certain that he had the right length, but if he didn't, he could just start a new string.

It didn't take long to sew Itchy's arms back on. He lifted the arm a little bit to assure its flexibility, and then let it drop back. There we go, fixed. He sighed, and went back to his chair- oh, _goddammit!_ Why did every member of his stupid gang insist on getting hurt so much? Since he was holding the violet thread already, he would use it again. Oh, never mind; it was Doze this time that had gotten hurt. He had to go into his box full of new string colours he'd ordered to keep track of how many injuries there were on this guy. Sparkling gold; perfect. No member of the Felt would be caught dead with something like this in their suits. He considered maybe including that in his next line; this shade of gold _did_ look particularly good with bright green; he could tell because _everything_ was bright green. Including his hands; the thread looked nice against his hands. He was maybe the only member of the Felt that could appreciate things like this... Maybe Crowbar would, as well, but he doubted it. He had to give those Midnight Crew guys some credit; they knew how to dress.

A door slammed and he heard a loud voice yell,

"We're ho- _ome!_ "

He sighed, and left his sewing room. Right down the hall was the entrance, where Crowbar, Clover, Itchy, and Doze were entering. Itchy had the most smug look on his face and, hey, no sleeves.

"You brought your sleeves, didn't you?" Stitch asked, knowing what the answer was going to be. He mouthed along the response word for word:

"Nah, I just... forgot 'em. Everything was so heated, y'know?"

"You know what I _do_ know?" he asked in response.

"What's that?" Itchy smirked. The other three (or at least, Clover and Crowbar; Doze was still closing the door) had left.

"Most people don't get to walk away from _dismemberment_ , Itchy, maybe you should-"

"Yeah, yeah," he interrupted. "Shut up, Stitch. I'll see ya later."

With that, he left. Stitch looked at Doze, who had just finished closing the door.

"Do you see what I'm dealin' with, here?" he asked. He turned around and yelled, "_Itchy!_ I need your coat!"

Of course Itchy took as long as he could getting there. _Of course._


End file.
